Fashion Club: Part 1.
by Alan Smithee
Summary: A parody of "Fight Club."
1. Default Chapter Title

  
Fanfic: "Fashion Club."  
  
by Thomas Greene.  
  
Some of these characters/situations/other stuff may be the copyright of MTV. This isn't as needed as a warning, but the writer doesn't want to get sued by The Man.   
If you have any criticism on this work, send it to ReLect0@aol.com. If you feel the need to flame this work, I got two words for you, SUCK IT!   
Anything else? Oh, yeah. Don't do drugs. Unless it is for good reasons.Ah, screw that, Smoke crack and worship Satan.   
  
Part One.  
  
DAMMIT, WHY DOES THAT BITCH GET BETTER TITS THAN I DO?  
  
Oh, *hi there!* I should get into this a little more. I met up with Brittany at cheerleading tryouts. My parents said that it would look good on college transcripts, like I need those now. I think it was more because they wanted a little cheerleader in the house and knew that my sister wouldn't go for it. So I go to this meeting, right? I meet up with the chick.  
"Oh, hi! You're trying out, right? That is so great! We're going to be such good friends!" I couldn't believe this bitch.  
I tried for it. Ah, so what if this was the way it would be? It got to add something to my week. Between dates, school, and shopping, I had nothing new to add to it. I still managed to fit some new stuff in there.   
Mondays were cheerleading, Tuesdays was that awful newspaper (I swear, mimeograph ink does SO badly on my skin!), Wednesdays was some team sports thing that I could care less about, Thursdays was drama (Those guys are hot. If they weren't all gay...), and Fridays was some community service thing at a testicular cancer ward. Damn, those guys are downers. I bet that stuff could even make someone like Tom Green all moody and somber. Well, back to *my story*! I began to notice these things. I began to get respect at these places. I eventually noticed this one chick at all of the same functions. I eventually kept going between things on whether to call her on it or not. Eventually, I decided to.  
"Now, this is a good one. Most of you have gotten your mandatory community service out of the way! Let's all have a group hug!" That teacher, I swear, was SO annoying :)! I managed to find that...that "Visitor."  
"I know what you're up to." I told her.  
"What?" she asked.  
"About being a visitor."  
"Well, you are too, right?"  
"I'll go to them and tell them you're not honest about it."  
"I'll do the same thing on you."  
We quickly left there and headed out.  
"So, if you're going to be at these things, do you think we should know each other?" I asked.  
"Well, sure. Okay. My name's Jane."  
"Hey. I think we should decide to split these up evenly."  
"Okay. How about you take cheerleading Mondays?"  
"Okay. You have that newspaper thing."  
"Okay, but you're taking the cancer ward."  
"Fine. You've got sports. You're better, anyways."  
"Well, that leaves drama."  
"I want that."  
"Well, I like it too."  
"That's your favorite as well? Damn!"   
"Okay, how's about we split it? You take odd weeks, I take even weeks?"  
"Um, what's odd weeks?"  
"*sigh* You take the first and third week, I take second and fourth."  
"Oh. Okay. Shouldn't we exchange phone numbers, you know, in case we want to switch weeks or something?"  
"I think I could do that." We exchanged numbers and left.   
  
Ever since that time, I had a little more time on my hands. I tried to shop a bit more, but soon Mummy and Daddy's credit cards were maxed out. I tried adding a couple guys to the many I was dating, but they all got jealous and took me on Jerry Springer to tell me that they were each dating members of the Budweiser Clydesdales. I was so hurt! Luckily, the parents had paid off their bills, so I used some pretense to claim that I was going to visit colleges in New York to fly up there and do some hardcore shopping.  
"So, you're going up to New York too?" the girl next to me asked.   
"Well, yeah. Shopping calls, " I replied.  
"Awesome. Me too. What's your business?"  
"Nothing much. Trying to keep mom and dad from cutting me off to go work at Burger World and dip things into hot fat."  
"My name's Quinn Morgendorffer. I deal in moisturizing creams and other stuff like that." She opened her backpack to reveal some really good stuff. I tried a little to amazing results.   
"So, how much does that make?"  
"Pretty good, actually. They see me, they want to get my cream. They also buy a lot of the stuff."  
We talked throughout the flight. She took me over to some good places to get some sweet deals, leaving me looking fab-u-lous! We got back to the airport the next day.   
  
That's strange, no one's here to pick me up. They should've at least had "Sis" get me a ride. I took a cab over to the place. I got there quickly. My house was in rubble.  
"I take it you cannot pay me?" the driver asked. I flashed him quickly and ran out of the car. The neighbors told me how my parents had died in the explosion. Great. I'm homeless, I'm an orphan, who do I call?  
  
I fish around in my purse and find the card Quinn gave me. I call the number up.  
"Hi, you've reached Quinn's place. Leave your number."  
"Hi, my house blew up. My parents are dead. I need a place to crash." Quinn picked the phone up.  
"I'll be right over there." She picked me up as we headed over to her house.  
"Hey, how did you get your license at 14?"  
"What the man doesn't know doesn't hurt him. Come on, let's stop over here. The guy quotient is huge."  
We stopped in and checked things out. The pizza was choice, the music was okay, and as she said, the guys were hotties. We filled up on the food and the free refill soda and left for the parking lot.  
"So, why are we out here?"  
"Let me ask you, honestly. Have you ever modeled?"  
"A couple times."  
"I mean, competitively? wo-mano a wo-mano?"  
"Not yet."  
"You mean you've never fought with a woman to see who was more attractive? How much can you know about yourself if you've never modeled as a competitor?"  
"I don't know."  
"Well, there are guys out there. Let's see if they want to check this."  
We went into the back of the parking lot. Quinn started walking as if it was a great runway. I followed in the same manner. The guys couldn't stop drooling. We kept at it all night until they had to leave.  
  
Stay tuned for part two. 


	2. Default Chapter Title

  
Fashion Club Part Two.  
  
by Thomas Greene.  
  
Some of these characters/situations/other stuff may be the copyright of MTV. This isn't as needed as a warning, but the writer doesn't want to get sued by The Man.   
If you have any criticism on this work, send it to ReLect0@aol.com. If you enjoy this work, please search on the name at the title screen and look for more of my work. If you feel the need to flame this work, I got two words for you, SUCK IT!   
Anything else? Oh, yeah. Don't do drugs. Unless it is for good reasons.Ah, screw that, Smoke crack and worship Satan.   
  
We went back to Quinn's car. She quickly sped off into the bad neighborhood.   
"You expect me to live *there*?" I asked. "It's all, all, *second class!*"  
"Quiet. That's just the outside." Quinn opened the door, revealing a pretty sweet place. She proceeded to take me on a form of guided tour of the place.  
"That's the bathroom, that's one of my clothes closets, that's another one of mine, that was the guest room, but I changed it to hold all the pretty things I get guys to buy me..." I quickly grew anxious.  
"Well, where am I supposed to stay?"  
"Well, I don't have a room per se, but my bed's big enough for both of us." I would have said something, but hey, beggars can't be choosers! :)   
"I just need to freshen up a bit. Something about a long plane ride followed by your house exploding..."  
I went to the bathroom, stripped my clothing off, and just relaxed in the shower. Damn, I needed this. Suddenly, I hear Quinn come in here.   
"Um, courtesy! I'm in here!" I shouted.  
"Don't be such a prude. I just came to talk a little bit,"Quinn replied.  
"Well, okay. What about?"  
"I was wondering what you thought about those two...parents."  
"Not much, actually. Both of them were *so* boring! Always focusing about their own problems and not focusing enough on whatever *I* did! Actually, it kicks ass that they're gone so we can hang out more." I replied. Quinn tried to hug me from the outside of the shower curtain to absolutely no success.  
"I know what you're talking about. Now come on, there's not enough hot water for both of us." I left the shower. I was a little surprised to see Quinn in her birthday suit, but I just chalked it up to laziness to re-turn the whole thing on again. I went over to where her bedroom was and just fell asleep. I'm usually not a good sleeper, and this was a pleasant exception. The only thing I remember in that dream was another of my "Meet Teen Idol of the Day and have him start going down on me" dreams, but for some reason the guy had much softer lips than the pillow that usually substituted for it and actually brought me over the edge for once. I still can't find out why that happened.  
  
Me and Quinn started hanging out more often. I found out a few of her ways to get more money. According to what I've seen, she had more jobs than moisturizers. Most of them were just normal. She'd apply for focus groups to makeup brands she didn't like to get the free food and token money. Once in there, she'd make ludicrous claims to get them into really horrific colors. I was wondering why "Puce" was made the "Official Spring Color." Quinn had apparently taken a job at some movie theater in concessions. She said they didn't trust people our age as projectionists and didn't want to clean up anything. In this manner, she would frequently put some "homemade objects" in the popcorn butter and watch as they ate it. (Apparently, it slowly became the most popular theater in the state since then. Well, win some, lose some.)  
  
We started to keep the Fashion Club going. More and more girls started coming to the meetings. Within a month, we rented a store after hours for these "meetings." It got so big that we decided to take a day out, head over to the mall, and do some Van Damage to my parents' credit rating. (What, you actually thought I'd cancel their credit cards when they died?) Since we had some more time in food court, we just went to work on some rules. It was with these things that we headed in that Saturday night. I hid somewhere in the queue as Quinn started speaking.  
  
"Afternoon, ladies. Most of you know why you're here. You know what secret longings draw you, week after week, to this trendy place, far from the prying eyes of a society that will not allow us to show ourselves off freely. Many of you are hardcore veterans of Fashion Club, old-school regulars of our little group that meets weekly here in this Gap after hours. You are loyal and trusted members of the sisterhood. Your furrowed brows are intent upon showing what God gave you, and the lust for bare-midriffed modeling action pumps through your veins. You know full well what long-repressed urges find their release in the fashionable way. You know what you want.  
But some of you may still be wondering what drove you to this place, this mutually supportive environment where our raw, primal passion for vogueing, 'coming out', taunting, and modeling has found a home, an oasis where our pent-up natural instinct to show it all explodes in a frenzy of furious, estrogen-fueled bonding. I see an awful lot of new faces in the crowd tonight, and that means one thing: Some of you little cockteases haven't been observing the first two rules of Fashion Club. So, for the benefit of you rookies in the room:  
The first rule of Fashion Club is: You don't talk about Fashion Club..  
You don't talk about the fact that a well-made body can be a lethal weapon in many instances. You don't say anything about batting your eyes or virtually basting your skin with lotions. You don't mention that the meetings will be filled with anyone who's anyone in your local schools.  
My name is Miss Quinn Morgendorffer, Quinn to my friends. But you don't say my name. When you encounter me or a fellow member of Fashion Club on the street, at a one-day-only sale you ditched to go to, or at a concert by some TRL darling of the moment, you will say nothing. You will exchange one wordless glance, recognizing each other by the attractive appearance, the eyes made beautiful from makeup and contacts, and the palms softened from constant touching by the boys. You will know each other by the stitches your clothes bear and the passion you both feel surging through your quasi-fascist, fashion-based elitist consciousness.  
You will learn about even placement of makeup. You will learn to pretend to be delicate to get boys to do whatever you want them to. You will learn all this and more, but you will not talk about Fashion Club.  
The second rule of Fashion Club is: YOU DON'T TALK ABOUT FASHION CLUB. Got it, ladies? You don't say that the best metal to use for your tounge piercing is one that tastes vaguely good. You don't talk about using hairspray to give limp hair the depth to make the boys put you in their spank bank. You don't talk about marking your man's body with hickeys in some telltale symbol, which shows other girls that they're yours and you'll fight for them until you get bored with them.  
You will spot each other in food courts and hallways, at cookie huts and pizza parlors. You will spread like wildfire across the nation in an ever-expanding network, a vast, subversive structure of untraceable underground cliques, each one a den of feminine cooperation and unbridled, no-holds-barred emotional support. You will stealthily advance our fashion agenda from the shadows, protected by a shroud of silence and secrecy.  
You don't wear more than four layers of fabric at the same time. You keep an eye out for clothing containing polyester fibers, as this is a sign of being second-rate. You keep your charge card covered when not in use and out of the reach of others' hands at all times, because having only your own bills on it is paramount. And you don't talk about Fashion Club.  
The third rule of Fashion Club is: If this is your first visit to Fashion Club, YOU WILL WALK TONIGHT. You will show your stuff, strike your pose, and utilize every tool you have to be pretty. You will see who is more attractive, you or some other girl. You will, should time be limited, be advised to use something off of the racks here.  
You are here because, deep down, you want to show off. You think you have what it takes to be one of us, but fashion takes discipline. And it demands perseverance. You have to possess, from the gut, the willingness to commit to a long-term appointment that you cannot take off your schedule, one that may well cut into your hot date. You will need all of these things, as well as large amounts of quality clothing, if you expect to survive here.  
We in this room have gathered together in glorious praise of the dehumanizing corporate consumer culture that lets us show our solidarity with womanhood. We are here to fight for a society that tells us we must purchase our clothing from the designers that make them. A society that forces us with the "right" to make our parents pay money so that we might be popular.  
Soon, sisters, we will move on to the next phase: Project Cocktease. And the first rule of Project Cocktease is: Don't ask questions. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Right now, it's time to initiate some new sisters into Fashion Club. All right, ladies, enough useless talk. Now, which one of you thinks she's ready? Who wants to show off first?" She stepped aside and let the fun begin.  
"What's this about phases?" I asked.   
"Like I said, Don't ask Questions." Quinn replied. Why do I get a bad feeling suddenly?  
  
Stay tuned for part three. 


	3. Default Chapter Title

Fashion Club: Part Three.  
  
by Thomas Greene.  
  
Some of these characters/situations/other stuff may be the copyright of MTV. This isn't as needed as a warning, but the writer doesn't want to get sued by The Man.   
If you have any criticism on this work, send it to ReLect0@aol.com. If you feel the need to flame this work, I got two words for you, SUCK IT! If you like this work, just check for more of it in different realms with the "Author button."  
Anything else? Oh, yeah. Don't do drugs. Unless it is for good reasons.Ah, screw that, Smoke crack and worship Satan.   
  
I couldn't really sleep that night. Sure, I got the bed to myself for the first time in a couple weeks, but I just couldn't stop thinking. What was Operation:Cocktease? Why didn't she tell me? Does this shirt really go with these pants? And where was all this music coming from? I eventually just ended up at the table that night.   
"You live here?" I heard a voice. It was Jane.  
"Um, yeah." I heard Quinn come up the stairs.  
"Damn, Jane. If you were a guy, I'd have to take a whole thing of pills today after that," Quinn said.  
"I know. Wasn't it freaking great?" Jane replied. This just added to the more strange materials. I decided not to think about it and head over to school. Hopefully, this'd be normal. Then the intercom blared. I was sent to see the principal.  
"Now, what is the matter here?" the principal asked. "I found this in the copy machine."  
"Oh, I must have forgotten it. Can I have it?"  
"First off, students can't use this to save the free world, much less rules on...Fashion Club?"  
"Oh,that. It's part of the newspaper."  
"Oh, okay. Carry on."  
Phew. That was a close one. I came close to leaving, when Brittany came over to me.  
"Oh, hi! I haven't seen you in *ages!*"she exclaimed.  
"Um, yeah. So, are you still with that cheerleading thing?"I replied.  
"Well, no. I've gotten something else to do with my time."  
"Hardcore XXX action?"  
"No, silly! That was ALWAYS a hobby!"  
"Well, what is this one?"  
"I shouldn't. The first rule is that I can't talk about it, and the second rule is...I forget."  
"Oh. That one. It's cool. I'm in with the founders of Fashion Club."  
"Oh. Which day are you in for?"  
"I usually take Tuesdays."  
"Oh. Saturdays."  
"Isn't that the day where...Quinn started it? Is it true that she had her digestive tract removed so she wouldn't have to eat as much?"  
"I am honestly not sure. Well, leave. As soon as possible."  
"Okay. Bye-e!" I quickly ran in an opposite direction.   
  
The week slowly became more normal. Wake up, go to school, hang out, go to sleep, let Quinn lick me out, the usual stuff. I was nearly in another rut, until Quinn decided to make another possibility.   
"I think it's time for us to make some moisturizers." I was confused. Quinn brought me into the car. We ended up at the local liposuction clinic.  
"Um, why are we here?" I asked.  
"Human fat is extremely moist. It's the best stuff for creams." I didn't understand. Before I knew it, she had taken one of her outfits from last month and thrown it onto the barbed wire fence. I was soon carrying more fat than that time when Marlon Brando hired me to be his personal conveyance. We quickly went back home. Before long, she had gotten some dyes to turn the stuff white, which according to her would "make stupid girls think it's legit."   
"Now, for the last touch", she said. She pulled out a bottle of lye and dumped some in.  
"Why is that needed?" I asked.  
"No reason. Just adds some cleaning agents to the cream. Here, try some."   
"Um, no, I don't want to..." She took out my hand and kissed it. She then poured a little of the lye on my hand. It burned.   
  
"YOU *BITCH*! THAT'S GOING TO BE PERMANENT!" I screamed.  
"Come on. You need to get some pain once in a while, and I'm not Goth enough to go into that domination thing," Quinn replied.  
"Well, what do I do on this?"  
"I just put some makeup over it."   
I tried to do so. It surprisingly worked. We decided to call it a night. That night, I tried to enact my revenge by bringing my teeth to the party when I was pressing her button. How was I to know that was how she liked it?  
  
Stay tuned for part four. 


	4. Default Chapter Title

Episode Four.  
  
by Thomas Greene.  
  
Some of these characters/situations/other stuff may be the copyright of MTV. This isn't as needed as a warning, but the writer doesn't want to get sued by The Man.   
If you have any criticism on this work, send it to ReLect0@aol.com. If you feel the need to flame this work, I got two words for you, SUCK IT!   
Anything else? Oh, yeah. Don't do drugs. Unless it is for good reasons.Ah, screw that, Smoke crack and worship Satan.   
  
When we woke up that morning, we were surprised to find a girl standing in black on our porch.I had seen her around school sometimes. I think her name's "Stacy."  
"Hey, why are you standing here?" I asked.  
"I have come to study under Quinn to become a more perfect person," she replied.  
I saw Quinn wake up, and told her.  
"There's some girl on our porch who wants to study under us."  
"Let me check this out." She walked onto the porch and looked her over. "Sorry, black isn't your color. Please leave." The girl stayed there for the whole weekend. Every so often Quinn would find a reason to not allow her in. Eventually, she just said "Well, if you're that determined about it..." She started to do our dirtier chores, so we were happy with her. Eventually, more people started to congregate on our porch and were subsequently denied. As with the first case, they were always allowed in within days. Soon, our house was easily as big as one of those nerdy *study groups.*   
  
One day a couple of weeks later, I went into the house. The "helpers" and Quinn were sprawled out in front of the TV. I turned on the TV. The news was on.  
"We have reports of a group of people who firebombed the local Abercrombie and Fitch after hearing that they were out of sweaty jockstrap hats today. The group is apparently a splinter of the controversial 'Fashion Clubs' that are dotting the American underground..."  
"What was that all about?" I asked.  
"Um, I don't understand. Buy me something pre-tty?" Quinn replied.  
"That won't work this time. Did you blow up Abercrombie?"  
"Rule one: Don't ask questions."  
I had to leave immediately. I found a guy who thought I was cute and spent the night at his place. Sure, I had to sleep with him, but I was willing to in order to get away for a little bit. I went back "home." Quinn wasn't there. I took the key and just went in. I relaxed a little bit, gave my girl some attention, and just waited. Suddenly, our helpers came in. They were carrying someone.  
"What happened?"I asked.  
"We were trying to seduce cops and have them bust themselves for statutory. They thought we were tripping and opened fire. They shot her!" One of the girls replied. I took off the hood. I saw that it was Brittany. I tried to revive her. It was to no avail.   
"Throw her into the garden," one of the girls said.   
"What? Her parents might want to get her body back!" I exclaimed.  
"Huh?"  
"This is one of the,um, people I know! Yeah." I replied.  
"Well, where do we go for her family?"  
"Don't you know her name? Just go to anywho.com!"  
"We have no names."  
"Of course you do!"  
We argued for a bit. Finally, one of the girls spoke out.  
"Maybe, in death we get names. Since we don't know hers, I vote we call her name 'Robert Paulsen.'"  
"That's insane! Her name is Brittany Taylor!" It was to no avail. Everyone started chanting "Her name is Robert Paulsen" over and over. I had to find Quinn. I snuck into one of her storage rooms. I found some plane ticket stubs. I decided to go to these places and find her. On my way out, I passed someone asking for her.  
"Hi, is Quinn there? It's her sister, Daria."  
"Um, Quinn's not here. Quinn's..absent."  
"Okay. Get some sleep."  
  
Stay tuned for part five. 


	5. Default Chapter Title

Fashion Club X: Just Unearthed Alternate Ending.  
  
by Thomas Greene.  
  
Some of these characters/situations/other stuff may be the copyright of MTV. This isn't as needed as a warning, but the writer doesn't want to get sued by The Man.   
If you have any criticism on this work, send it to ReLect0@aol.com. If you feel the need to flame this work, I got two words for you, SUCK IT!   
Anything else? Oh, yeah. Don't do drugs. Unless it is for good reasons.Ah, screw that, Smoke crack and worship Satan.   
  
I had to go to the police. Apparently, if she had done all of these things, I was apeshit.  
"Hi, welcome to the Highland police. What's your problem?"  
"I may or may not have started a terrorist group."  
"Get in line." I headed toward the back of the "Possible Terrorist Leaders" line. *Honestly,* that so didn't work with me! I'm too cute to fit with these people!  
"Number 420?" My number. I walked in.  
"So, what's your claim?" the person asked.  
"In a very short while, I think that there's going to be problems with some form of blowing up."  
"What's going to happen here?"  
"Apparently, I am going to blow up some credit card companies so that I can keep all of my stuff."  
"Ah, this is a SERIOUS problem. Let me dial Sgt. I-DON'T-GIVE-A-DAMN!" I proceeded to wait.  
"Not bad, Quinn..."  
"Why?" I asked.  
"You just sacrificed yourself to show it. You squealed, now we're going to have to force-feed you until you look like Roseanne." They locked me up to the table. I screamed. I was doomed. I took some of the food. "Damn, I'm going to have to go to the bathroom now..." At least they let me go. I quickly headed to one of the buildings.  
"Hey, where are you going?" I turned around. It was "Quinn."  
"WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?" I asked.  
"I don't like people working against my dreams, especially when it's myself." Quinn replied.  
"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"   
"I don't think so," she replied as she pulled out a knife.  
  
Somehow, Quinn had gotten her hands on a gun and placed it in my mouth.  
"So, three minutes and we're all freed."  
"MMGHPHOG!"   
"What was that?"  
"You *bitch*! You're going to totally eliminate plastic!"  
"Isn't that a good thing? Make everyone need to pay cash for everything, play with an even playing field..."  
"THAT'S BARBARIC! EVERYONE BEING AS POOR AS EVERYONE ELSE, HAVING TO SAVE FOR CLOTHING INSTEAD OF GETTING MONEY FROM MOMMY AND DADDY?"  
"Tough, isn't it? Well, it'll make people learn budgets!"  
"You've been reading Tom Brokaw again, haven't you?"  
"Nope. Just saving your souls." I had to do it. For the world.  
"Whatever's yours..." The knife went into my hands.  
"Is mine." I placed the knife to my face.  
"What are you going to do now?"   
I proceeded to scar my face.  
"AAAGH! I'm not pretty anymore!" It worked. She jumped out the window.  
"That little idiot!" I cried. "I can cover this with some make-up so easily..." Some cops came over to the building. I checked out the tag. "Officer Smithee." I wonder why that's supposed to ring a bell?  
"What happened here?" he asked.  
"You know, saving the fate of the world as we know it..." I replied.  
"Ah. I understand. Your imaginary friend went psycho and tried to blow up things?"  
"Um, I don't understand. Buy me something pre-tty?" Dammit, I was talking like Quinn.  
"Well, the scar's a dead giveaway. You had to cut yourself in order to kill this psychotic alter ego, right?"  
"Um, yeah. How'd you know?"  
"That's what comes from owning a copy of Fight Club, watching it, and understanding it, I guess..."  
"Well, I guess that I'm not a choice piece anymore after that scar. You're not high enough on the chain, do you want to..."  
"What? I don't think 'You're not high enough on the chain' is a good opening line, missy. Eh, you're cute enough, I'm a guy, sure." I went to leave with the officer. As we left, the buildings started to blow up.  
"What? Didn't they send in the SWAT team to kill the bombs?" I asked.  
"Um, my bad..."   



	6. Default Chapter Title

Part Five: The conclusion.   
  
I quickly headed to the airport. I followed them in order of the days of the tickets. I kept going to the places. I couldn't find Quinn, but I kept finding girls who looked like they were trying to show off to no one in particular. At the very least, I was on the right trail. I kept hearing them saying "Her name is Brittany Taylor" like it was a sort of chant. Damn it. They must have started Operation Cocktease in these places. I finally went back home in defeat. It was then that I got a call. It was Quinn.  
"Hi, couldja do me a favor and pick me up? It's *so* expensive to call a cab and my car's all *hot!*" she said. I had my in to get there. I called a cab and went to the hotel. I got to her room.  
"Thank GOD! You're here! Now, let's go! There's a good one-day sale at Limited and all the stuff will be gone if we don't!"  
"Not until you tell me...ONE DAY SALE! Come on, woman! No time to waste!" We quickly rushed over there. Damn, we looked fine. We went over to the food court.  
"So, as I was saying, Who the hell are you?" I asked.  
"Oh, that's easy. I'm you." Quinn replied.  
"What? Why would you be me? That's just a second-rate cop-out to try and bypass the fact that we might just be attracted to each other!" I replied.  
"Sorry. That's the breaks. I'm your alter-ego."   
"That's so lame! Imaginary friends are SO 3 year old!"  
"Not if you're looking for a change in your life."   
"Oh, yeah. Let's see about that. The jobs..."  
"You wanted more money, and you didn't sleep."  
"The actually sleeping with that mutant Jane..."  
"You did it, Quinn. She just didn't really give a fuck. I figure, someone's actually doing Something to her, she's cool."  
"The whole 'Fashion Club?'"   
"You looked SO stupid doing that by yourself."  
"You giving me that great pleasure while I slept?"  
"Well, we established you didn't sleep, so..."  
The news sunk in. The stories all checked out. But why would I go and get an imaginary friend for these things? It's just...retarded!  
"Well, it doesn't really matter. In five minutes we're all going to Hell in a handbasket. Operation: Cocktease is nearly done, ya know."  
This hit home too much for me. What was Operation: Cocktease? Why was it going to end the whole thing? I waited. At the very least, I would see what Operation: Cocktease was...  
  
Suddenly, it started. A large voice came from throughout the land. Did I call out God while my alter-ego played this role?  
The voice started talking:  
  
"NO! I can't take this! I'm a Hack! I'm just a Fucking Hack! I'm not a great mage of Daria! I didn't see the end of 'Fight Club!' Now I can't end this fucking thing! I'll never have any skill! I should've just stuck to very intricate Legion of Super-Heroes scripts that are nothing more than allegories for my pain of not being able to tell girls how I really feel!" Suddenly, large raindrops fell through the sky. Dammit, that stuff *so* messed up my hair.  
  
The voice just kept talking. "Maybe I should just take the Hack Cop-Out and blow up the world of it!"   
I couldn't let that happen. I mean, the world has *such* good shopping... "Come on, you're not *that* bad..."  
"Oh, yeah, right."  
"No, you have some skill. Just use some good ending for this. You can do it."  
  
Suddenly, a large foot dropped from the ground, squashing the house I had been in. The lackeys were crushed. As that fake me was distracted, I beat her up somewhat well. She didn't die, but she was really hurt badly in one of those pro wrestling "I'm going to 'hospitalize' this one guy so that he can go off on his honeymoon and get these bad guys way over in one fell swoop" manner. I had beaten the end of it all. Maybe "Quinn" did teach me how to use my looks as a weapon after all. Even if I run across her again, I can at least fend for myself. 


End file.
